


The Airbending Scroll

by wrongfun (scumtrout)



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2718251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scumtrout/pseuds/wrongfun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A boy, a girl, a desert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Airbending Scroll

Zaheer sprints across the shrubland and dives behind a rocky outcrop, where he doubles over and tries to catch his breath. His lungs burn, though that’s only a mild discomfort compared to the stinging pain in his left leg.

His pursuer has been aiming low, trying to cripple him. Either they want him alive, or they want a corpse that can be identified. Yuan Ji probably wants to make an example of him.

He hunkers down and searches his pockets for a mirror. If he angles the mirror over the rocks, he might be able to see who’s following him, but…

He pauses.

No, he thinks. If he holds up a mirror, his pursuer could spot the light glinting off it, and then they might blow his hand clean off.

However, if they keep attacking him, perhaps they’ll give away their location.

Zaheer sighs, and removes his jacket.

He bundles the jacket up into a ball and tosses it high in the air.

The jacket rises above the rocks, spinning gently, and then there’s a flash and a wave of heat. Zaheer blinks out of reflex. Just a split second later, there’s a sound like the crack of a whip.

The jacket is gone. A few singed scraps of cotton waft to the ground.

Zaheer considers this.

Well, the good news is that his pursuer might not be very smart. The bad news is that they have excellent aim.

He takes a pair of binoculars from his pack, and dares to peek out from cover.

In the distance, he can just make out a scrawny, ragged figure; a thin silhouette against the blue of the sky. Zaheer feels a bit sorry for them. They shouldn’t be standing out in the open like that.

He ducks back down, and examines the injury to his leg. It’s just a shallow burn, nothing that’ll hinder him. If it doesn’t get infected, he’ll be fine.

He decides to wait until nightfall before moving on. He digs his chopo choor out of his pack backpack - it’s right at the bottom, buried under bags of food and tubes of maps - then sits cross-legged and fidgets to get comfortable.

He listens to the world as he silently practices his fingerwork.

—

The moon is obscured by cloud, but Zaheer still keeps his head low and his shoulders hunched as he leaves the shelter of the rocks and heads north, further into the desert.

He’s aware that if has to kill his pursuer, he should do it at night when their bending would be at its weakest, but perhaps that won’t be necessary. He knows the area well. He’s hoping the landscape will keep him from getting his hands bloody.

When daybreak comes, he takes cover in the lee of another outcrop (this one looks like a row of broken teeth, so he draws a snaggle-toothed smile in its location on his map) and resigns himself to another day of patience.

He meditates. He picks his zits. He inspects his chin hopefully for signs of beard growth. He composes lines of poetry that he might one day recite to girls, then reminds himself that he should be concerned with higher things.

He reads the scroll that he took – no, rescued - from Yuan Ji.

He did not, technically, steal the scroll, though Yuan Ji evidently thinks otherwise. ‘Stealing’ would imply that the scroll was Yuan Ji’s in the first place.

The scroll depicts various airbending forms. It is unimaginably valuable. Zaheer has considered giving it to a library once he finds somewhere suitable, but then there’s the risk that then it might just end up in some warlord's private collection again. And then someone will have to rescue it. Again. But maybe that’s unavoidable.

He tries to imagine the airbending forms in action, but his mind wanders, and he wonders what his pursuer is doing at the moment. If they know Yuan Ji, then have they ever seen this scroll? What did they think about it? What things _do_ they think about, when they're not busy shooting fireballs at people's legs?

The empty desert stretches out as far as the eye can see, and Zaheer suspects that his pursuer will be the only other human he'll see for at least a fortnight.

He rolls the scroll up, inexplicably dissatisfied with it, and resumes composing bad poetry.

—

In the evening, as the sun disappears beyond the horizon, Zaheer climbs up the nearest ridge and looks around with his binoculars again. He’s aware of how foolish this is, but boredom is a terrible thing.

He manages to spot them - a dark shape lurking some distance away - right before there’s a bright flash just a few steps away from his left foot.

Zaheer immediately bolts to the opposite side of the ridge, but not without first glancing down to the ground, where the sand has melted to green stone.

—

Half an hour later, and he’s stupid enough to retrace his steps, find the patch of melted sand, scoop some of it up - it’s already cold - and put it in his pocket.

—

The next two days pass without incident.

On the third day, when the sun is at its zenith, Zaheer climbs up to a high point again, stands in plain view, and pretends to read a map.

There’s a small explosion a few steps to his left. It’s smaller than the others he’s seen.

He wonders if their aim is getting worse, or if they’re missing on purpose.

He wonders if they feel a little insulted that he’s daring to stand in plain view like this.

He folds his map, looks in their general direction, and waves.

In the distance, a shadow ducks behind a rock.

—

On the fourth day, Zaheer climbs up onto a dune, and takes another look around.

The ragged figure is much further away now.

Zaheer puts his binoculars away, and does a handstand, just to show that he’s still fit and healthy. Lo and behold, there’s a small _pwof_ and a burst of white fire several feet away from him.

Zaheer waits until nightfall before pocketing this new lump of green stone as well.

—

On the fifth day, his pursuer is completely out of sight, so Zaheer decides to walk back towards them, fully aware of how idiotic this is.

As soon as he can makes out their shadow against the landscape - the sun is high, so the world is all grey sand, blue sky, and deep black shadows - he pauses, and yells, “DO YOU WANT SOME WATER?”

A nearby rock explodes without warning. It looks like they’ve found some of their strength again.

"VERY WELL. THAT WOULD BE A NO, THEN," Zaheer shouts, and continues north.

—

Eventually he loses the nagging feeling that he’s being watched.

There is a chance that his pursuer has lost interest and decided to go home, but his gut instinct says that this is not the case.

Zaheer keeps going north for a few more miles, then sighs, and turns back.

He should’ve just killed them earlier. (If he _could_ , and he’d like to think so.) As things are, he’s just letting the desert do his dirty work for him, though he doesn’t know why that should bother him so much.

As he walks back south, he anticipates pain. He tells himself, repeatedly, that pain is unavoidable and not to be feared, though he still keeps expecting a flash of heat and then agony. He thinks about the melted sand, and then he thinks about melted skin. He almost tip-toes as he walks.

He picks his way over the barren terrain until a small dark blotch comes into view. All he can hear is his heartbeat.

The blotch is actually a body, leaning against a rock.

Zaheer pads up to it as if he’s walking on broken glass instead of sand.

The body is a girl.

She’s skinny, hollow-cheeked, maybe his age, maybe a little younger than him. His attention is drawn to the strange tattoo on her forehead, half-hidden behind a few stray locks of hair. Then his gaze takes in her ragged clothing, the bony wrists, her cracked lips.

He’s seen corpses before, but he still disgusted.

Then the girl’s eyelids open in one smooth movement.

Zaheer makes a noise and instinctively leaps back. (Years from now, she’ll insist that he let out a little scream.)

The girl stares at him blandly. It’s still hard to tell that she’s breathing. Her tongue slowly drags over her lips, and she lets out a rattling cough before rasping, “Go away.”

Zaheer thinks about this for a moment, weighing the risks against his steadfast refusal to do as he’s told, then says, “No.”

The girl doesn’t even blink at him, but her gaze hardens.

Zaheer sits on the ground next to her, takes out a bottle of water, and offers it. If she wants to take it from him, she can. If not, he’ll hold it to her mouth.

The girl seems to come alive. Her eyes become animated by hatred. The change in her expression is so startling that Zaheer almost recoils from her. Then, quick as a viper, she snatches the bottle out of his hand.

Zaheer just sits there with his fingers grasping empty air.

The girl removes the cork and sniffs the bottle’s contents. Her expression changes, becomes more dejected and resigned, right before she gulps the water down.

Once she’s finished, she sits there, blank-faced, as if she expects something to happen.

Zaheer puffs out his cheeks and lets out a deep breath.

The girl keeps staring at the bottle rather than look at him.

"So you did want some water after all," Zaheer says.

The girl glowers at him as she continues to drink.

Zaheer digs through his pack until he finds a fig that he's been saving for the past week. Somehow, it still looks a little underripe, but he begins slicing it anyway.

He could ask the girl about the tattoo on her forehead, or her strange method of attack. But perhaps there are more important questions. And he doesn’t yet know if she’s capable of speech. She looks exhausted.

"Why did you follow me this far if you weren’t prepared to survive in the desert?" he asks.

The girl doesn’t answer.

Zaheer offers the slices of fig.

The girl snatches those out of his hands, too.

Eventually, through a mouthful of fruit, she says, “I can’t go back until I’ve killed you.” Her voice is small and raw.

"Oh," says Zaheer. He squints up at the sky. "Wait. Surely you don’t intend to carry my corpse back by yourself?"

"Just your head," the girl says.

Zaheer consider this. “Wouldn’t it go rotten in the heat?” Though some would say that his head is already rotten.

The girl stares dully at him and continues chewing.

"I see. You hadn’t planned on following me for so long," Zaheer adds.

"I can’t go back until I’ve killed you," the girl repeats.

That’s just stupid. Zaheer studies her. If he was Yuan Ji, he wouldn’t have sent this girl out to murder people for him. He would’ve sent someone old.

Perhaps Zaheer should become a warlord. He can't do a worse job of it than Yuan Ji, apparently.

"How old are you?" Zaheer asks the girl.

The girl sits up slightly. “Excuse me? How old are _you_?”

"I’m fourteen. You just… look a little young for someone who has to kill people."

"You look a little young for someone who steals things!" the girl snaps.

"Excuse me. I didn’t steal anything. The scroll wasn’t Yuan Ji’s to begin with," Zaheer says, and sniffs. He hunts down the scroll, and holds it out to her. “If I gave you this, does that mean you could return to Yuan Ji?”

The girl reaches out for the scroll, then pauses. “No. He definitely wants your head.”

Zaheer puts the scroll away again. “Well, I’m using that right now. You can have my head in another… two hundred years or so, when I probably won’t be needing it.”

"Two hundred years?" the girl says.

"Two hundred years."

"You’re not going to live for two hundred years," the girl says, still raspy but louder now, "Especially if you go around stealing things."

"I didn’t steal it," Zaheer tells her, "And Guru Denpo lived for five hundred years." Two hundred years just seems a little more achievable.

The girl stares. “I have no idea who Guru Denpo is, and also you are a…” She takes a moment to choose the right words, “…A… Dork.”

Zaheer purses his mouth shut. This isn’t going very well.

"You’re not quite right in the head, are you?" the girl asks, as if she’s just realized that she can bully him.

Zaheer shrugs. “I’m not the one who tried to cross a desert without adequate supplies.”

The girl scowls at him again.

"What would happen if you didn’t go back to Yuan Ji with my head and the scroll?" Zaheer asks.

The girl goes back to staring at the water bottle, and makes him wait at least ten seconds before answering, “He’d send people after me.”

"Wait, Yuan Ji sent _you_ after _me_ , and if you don’t go back, he’ll send other people after _you_?" Zaheer says. "Why didn’t he just send the other people after me in the first place?"

That just earns him a look of scorn. “You wouldn’t understand.”

" _I_ wouldn't have sent you. You’re not a very good assassin," Zaheer adds.

The girl’s face contorts into a look of rage; she immediately staggers to her feet, grits her teeth, and has to lean against the rock to stay upright.

Zaheer remains on the ground and squints up at her.

The girl towers over him, fists clenched, shoulders hunched, and stares. Then her left knee buckles, her bottom lip twists, and she sits back down.

"I’m… Maybe…" she says, without looking at him. "…Go away."

Zaheer shrugs to himself, and stands up.

"If you killed me and returned to Yuan Ji, what good would come of it?" he asks.

The girl doesn’t reply.

Zaheer scrutinizes her again: she’s a sharp, predatory-looking creature, with wide-set amber eyes in a narrow face. She reminds him of a circus tiger. (When he was younger, he once crept into a circus at night and tried to open all the cages. It was an… interesting experience.)

"You’re scared of what he’ll do, but I think you’ve already decided that you won’t go back," Zaheer says.

The girl's scowl deepens, and she gives him a look of appraisal. She’s still quite capable of killing him.

Her eyes then dart to the empty bottle of water in her hands. For just a split second, her mouth twists.

She slowly tries to stand, still leaning against the rock, then tosses the bottle at him. He lets it fall onto the sand.

"You should get going," she says. "I’ll wait until sundown, then start following you again."

"Or…" Zaheer says. "You could come with me."

The girl gives him another look of utter contempt. “You? No.”

"Why not?"

The girl points at him. “You’re stupid. You’re ugly. Your head looks like a melon. And also if they find us both, you’ll wish _I’d_ killed you. At least I’m quick.”

Zaheer nods slowly, then crouches to pick up the bottle. “You say they’ll find us? Hmm. You’re the first person I’ve met who can firebend and predict the future. Are your predictions as accurate as your aim?”

The girl looks as if she’s about to punch him, then says, “You don’t know what these people are like.”

"I can imagine what they’re like. The world is full of evil people. They all seem the same after a while. There are so many evil people that I got bored of being frightened of them."

The girl curls her upper lip, and kicks at the sand. “Alright. Fine. I’ll go with you. But only because you have food and water,” she says. “Start walking, then. I’m sick of looking at this desert.”

Zaheer holds up his hands, and does as instructed, keeping his pace slow. The girl’s gait is unsteady, though he wouldn’t dare offer her any support. She's a head taller than him. Perhaps he misjudged her age.

"We’re both going to die, you know," the girl says, still agitated.

"Yes. It happens to everyone," Zaheer replies.

The girl huffs. “Shut up.”

Zaheer shuts up.

"You don’t understand. They _are_ going to track me down," the girl says.

Zaheer disobeys his order to shut up. “Then we’ll deal with them.”

"You can’t," the girl says. Her voice cracks slightly.

Zaheer pauses and looks at her. “Why not?”

The girl stops in her tracks. She closes her eyes, face contorting in frustration, while her mouth opens and closes as if she's struggling to find the words. In the end, all she can come out with is, “Because you’re short and you’re an idiot.”

"Then I would argue that my height simply makes me a smaller target. I will not, however, contest the second point."

"You’re going to regret everything," the girl snaps.

"I doubt that. Regret is a waste of time." Zaheer looks up at her. "What is your name?"

The girl glares at him for five seconds, caught off-guard, then glances over her shoulder, then looks down at her feet. “…P’Li.”

Zaheer turns to face her properly, and offers a bow. “Then hello to you, P’Li. I’d introduce myself, but you know my name already.”

"Yes, but, no, _but you’re not listening_ to me," says P’Li, stomping her right foot. "They’ll find us both. We should just split up and go in opposite directions and if they catch me, I’ll say I never saw you."

And yet she hasn’t walked away from him yet. “You’re dehydrated and hungry. You wouldn’t make it very far. Also, walking across the desert is very dull, and I would enjoy talking to you.”

"Well, then at least one of us would enjoy it," P’Li mutters, and then her voice takes on more of an edge. "I could still kill you."

"Do you _want_ to kill me?" Zaheer asks.

"That would depend on how annoying you get."

"I have the potential to be profoundly annoying."

P’Li tilts her head back and rubs her temples. She casts another look around. Then her shoulders sag and, for just a split second, she seems profoundly sad. “Fine. You were warned. If anything bad happens to you, then… You were warned.”

Zaheer says something that he hopes is true: “Listen. We’ll manage.”

P’Li wipes her nose on the back of her wrist. She lets her hair fall over her face. “Fine. _Fine_ ,” she says, then, “Do you have any more fruit?”

"No. I just have a head that looks like a melon, apparently."

P’Li sniffs, and looks up. “Just so you know, I’m only going to stay with you until we reach the next town.”

"Fine by me," Zaheer replies, and does not smile at her.


End file.
